


A Kiss With A Fist (Is Better Than None)

by dear_monday



Series: A Kiss With A Fist [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Killjoys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The fuck do you want?" asks Gerard, tipping his chin up, his voice unsteady. Poison wants to laugh; it's like watching a kid waving a gun around, all paper-thin bravado. He steps closer, into Gerard's space. Poison can feel the warmth rolling off Gerard in the biting chill of the desert night, can smell the sweat and the booze and the smoke.</i> Written for an <a href="http://anon_lovefest.livejournal.com">anon_lovefest</a> prompt: "I gave him a kiss and he gave me his fist."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss With A Fist (Is Better Than None)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for consent issues, but no actual non-con or dub-con.

Poison's trouble is that he's gotten too comfortable as a desert celebrity. He's too used to getting what – _who_ – he wants, genuinely doesn't even pause to consider that they might say no. He knocks back the last of his drink (battery acid, it's called, and it tastes so vile he thinks it might actually be just what it says on the tin), then leans back against the greasy, pockmarked edge of the bar and watches the show.

 

When Poison catches up with him, Gerard is just outside the back door of the Fuck You house, his hands shaking with the lingering buzz of the lights and the noise as he takes a last, deep drag on his smoke, drops it and grinds the butt under his heel. He's unselfconscious, hasn't noticed Poison lurking in the shadows yet, and when Poison brings his hands together in a slow clap and murmurs a low, smiling _bravo_ , Gerard's head jerks up, his eyes darting around nervously. He looks like a wave-head, his pupils blown wide with more than adrenaline. Poison steps out into the thin, synthetic yellow light and feels a kick of satisfaction at the way Gerard inhales sharply. Although, really, it's not like BL/ind aren't throwing wanted posters around like fucking confetti, so there's really no reason why Gerard _wouldn't_ recognise him.

"The fuck do you want?" asks Gerard, tipping his chin up, his voice unsteady. Poison wants to laugh; it's like watching a kid waving a gun around, all paper-thin bravado. He steps closer, into Gerard's space. Poison can feel the warmth rolling off Gerard in the biting chill of the desert night, can smell the sweat and the booze and the smoke.

"Aw, look at you, all claws out and runnin' scared," grins Poison. He just wants to take this one home and fuck him through the floor. Gerard is frozen, tense, watching Poison like a mouse watches a cat. Poison lets the taut silence stretch a beat longer before he moves, surging forward and pushing Gerard back against the rough wall, one hand in his collar and the other one twisted the sweat-soaked cotton of his shirt. Gerard's mouth is warm and soft and his body fits against Poison's like he was made for this, and Poison makes a low, feral noise as he pushes Gerard's thighs apart with one of his own, because, fuck, he's _definitely_ taking this one home. Poison licks at the seam of Gerard's lips, demanding, and biting down a little. Gerard shudders against Poison and Poison imagines bruises scattered over his pale throat and collarbones.

And then. And _then_. When Poison tells this story later, he'll leave this part out, because it's just fucking embarrassing. The punch is sloppy, swinging wide – _Grace_ knows how to throw a better punch than that, for fuck's sake. But it still catches Poison squarely in the jaw, and the shock of it sends him reeling backwards.

"The fuck was _that?!_ " his voice is high-pitched with surprise. He won't tell people about that, either. Gerard is clutching his hand (bone-on-bone; it must have hurt him just as much as it did Poison), face set and breathing hard.

"Could ask you the same thing," Gerard says, his lip curling almost into a snarl. Poison rubs disbelievingly at the throbbing sore spot, wondering how bad it's gonna bruise. Now the shock is fading, the selfish want is flaring again. This one's got some fight in him. Poison likes that. "Like, what, you're fucking _entitled_ or something?" Gerard continues, really getting into his stride now, just like when he's railing against BL/ind on stage, "Fuckin' _'joyboys_." It's a slur in Gerard's mouth, not a _Hail Mary_ like it would be in anyone else's. "They're all dicks, but you're the worst. You think that just because you've got some fucking – fucking punk-rock messiah complex, you get the right to, to – "

"To what? Catch a pretty boy after the show and tell him I like his band? Kiss whoever I want? Ghost any sand brat that looks at me the wrong way? _Fuck_ – " (his mouth drops open obscenely on the word) " – anyone who catches my eye?" Poison leans in again, smirking, but this time he's on his guard. "You wanna know a secret?" he whispers, moving closer, closer, until his mouth is right by Gerard's ear. "It does. It _does_ , motorbaby."

He's close enough that he hears Gerard's breath catch, feels his heartbeat pick up, sees his tongue run over his lips like he's chasing the taste of sand and cheap booze there.

"Maybe I should take you home. Show you what I can and can't do," he hums, mock-thoughtful, brushing his thumb over Gerard's warm cheek. Gerard backs away, up against the wall again, but the clenched fists and burning eyes promise more bruises if Poison tries anything. He's so fucking _brave_ , and Poison doesn't think it's just the thrill of the chase that's sending that hot thrum of _mineminemine_ through him. This is – new. It's been a long fucking time since anyone said no to him, to a _Killjoy_. The harsh light washes Gerard out, but Poison can see the pretty, pink flush sitting high up on his baby face, and he pictures Gerard spread out and needy on dirty sheets. Maybe not tonight, but soon, he promises himself. Poison'll give Gerard time to stew in that guilty want, time to think about Poison while he's jacking off. Time to _want_ it. Soon.

"Gee? Come on, man, how long does it take to have a fucking smoke, Jesus fucking Christ, we gotta – oh."

Gerard and Poison turn as one to look at the figure silhouetted in the doorway, Gerard startled and shamefaced and Poison curious. It's one of the guitarists from Gerard's band, Poison's pretty sure, the angry little thing who moves like he'd be an amazing fuck if you could only hold him still for long enough. He looks at Poison for a long moment, wary and a little reluctantly starstruck, and there it is, _that's_ the reaction Poison's used to. He smiles lazily, back on familiar ground.

"I'm done," he says. "You can have your motorbaby back. Don't worry, he's still shiny." Before Gerard can react, Poison darts forward and presses a quick, dirty kiss to Gerard's lips and pulls back just as fast, smirking. "Don't go starting any more fights, yeah? Be a shame if you went and got that pretty face all fucked up." He pats Gerard's cheek mock-affectionately, enjoying the way Gerard flinches slightly, then he saunters through the door, past the open-mouthed guitarist, and into the close warmth of the building.

Party Poison presses two fingers into the blossoming bruise on his jaw, and smiles to himself in the dark.


End file.
